


Dead Man's Bones (Promises to Keep)

by xaritomene, xrysomou



Category: All-American Rejects, Bandom
Genre: (but there is mild trauma involved), (not Nick or Tyson), Angst, Be ye warned, Death, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Ghosts, Halloween, I HAVE SEEN HORROR FILMS, I KNOW HOW THIS GOES, M/M, Nick and Tyson apparently live in a world without horror films, Nick and Tyson are ridiculous, Sympathy for the Devil, This is what happens when you go to creepy woods without preparing properly for potential evil, depiction of murder, it's common sense, it's not paranoia, lucky sods, this is why there's always a half-kilo of salt in my suitcase when I travel, you should always prepare for evil and ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaritomene/pseuds/xaritomene, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xrysomou/pseuds/xrysomou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Between the woods and frozen lake, the darkest evening of the year...</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the woods, there is a cabin. But that's not the only thing waiting there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Man's Bones (Promises to Keep)

“This,” Tyson said, climbing out of the car and glancing round, “this is more like it, Nicky! Who needs a cramped studio when they can have peace and quiet and solitude?”

Nick clambered out from behind the steering wheel. “You hate peace and quiet and solitude,” he reminded him. “But, fine, OK. This is pretty nice.” He looked around, with rather more sanguine eyes, at the small expanse of wood, and the little cabin they were supposed to call home for the next month. In the distance, he could hear birdsong and the sound of running water. It _seemed_ idyllic, but Nick was less quick to jump to positive conclusions than Tyson. Or maybe he was becoming a city boy in his old age.

“Do we need to unpack now?” Tyson had edged away from the car and was looking speculative. “There’s a bedroom in there that needs christening.”

Nick glanced at him. “We’ll need lube, Ty. Lube. That we _packed_ , in our _bags_.”

Tyson grinned and looped an arm around his shoulders. “Not necessarily,” he said cheerily, and towed Nick into the house.

**

The first two days were slow and lazy, and consisted in Nick’s memory mainly of sex, music and beer. Now this was the rockstar life he’d signed up for. 

They didn’t get much actual writing done, but that was OK. They’d only started the writing process a couple of months ago and they had time – the pressure still hadn’t hit. It had been only a few short months ago that they’d still been touring, and relaxation was still the order of the day, even if Tyson, the workaholic bastard, thought otherwise and was starting to get twitchy.

“What about ‘corners of my mind’?” Tyson asked, feet kicked up on the table, leant back in the sofa cushions. “I kinda like that. Or, ‘the twisted, jagged, biting shards of my soul-’”

“Enough,” Nick said tiredly, staring at the coffee machine. It was nine o’clock in the morning, three days after they’d moved in, and they’d got up especially early to write. After three months of going to bed late and not getting up until gone noon, Nick wasn’t down with this process. Tyson, normally the late riser of their partnership, seemed fine.

Not just fine, but _inspired_ , the asshole.

“Broken mirror, edge of – of – doom,” Tyson was still muttering to himself. If Nick hadn’t known this was a good sign, he’d have been worried.

As it was, he plunked a cup of coffee down in front of him. “Or, we could try something that actually scans,” he suggested. “Something we can write music for. With a manageable number of syllables. You have to sing this shit, remember?”

“Baby, I can get my mouth around anything,” Tyson leered.

“Suddenly I feel so cheap,” Nick said, but sat himself down next to Tyson and let Tyson drape an arm around him. 

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing. So, whatcha got for me?”

**

For the next two days, everything seemed to be going well. But Nick knew Tyson, and could tell when things weren’t coming as easily as Tyson wanted; he’d hit a block, and it was only a matter of time before it really started to get to him. It didn’t matter that they’d barely even got into the writing process – Tyson was a perfectionist. He always thought that writing their lyrics should be an easy process; he didn’t mind refining things over and over again, so long as he had something worth refining. This time, it seemed they didn’t even have that.

“Are you sure you hate ‘jagged, broken pieces of my soul’?” Tyson asked, throwing down the pen and sitting back with a sigh, dragging his hand across his eyes. “Because I think that’s the best we’ve got.”

Nick frowned. “Dude, chill. It hasn’t even been a week.”

“But it’s been nearly a week! And we’ve got _nothing_.” Tyson heaved another heavy sigh. “I never get like this, man. You know I don’t. Not this early. A month in, yeah, but not _now_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick sat down next to him and rested his head against Tyson’s shoulder, looking down at the notebook. “Normally right now you’re Mr. Chirpy and firing on all cylinders, ready to take over the world with your deathless lyrics-”

Tyson nudged Nick’s head off his shoulder. “Don’t mock me.”

Nick sat up. “I’m not mocking you! I just think you need to calm down. We haven’t done a stint like this since last album. It’s gonna take a while to get back into the swing of it – and in the meantime I’ll be here with coffee and sex and all those other good things.”

For a brief second, it looked like Tyson might be shaken out of his black mood. Then he stood. “I’m going for a walk.”

As he stalked out, Nick pulled the coffee towards him. “Just you and me now,” he said and took a moody sip.

**

“‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep’,” Tyson muttered to himself, dragging up his SAT revision from somewhere in the back of his mind and kicking up little flurries of dead leaves, trying very hard not to sulk. For someone who had a generally sunny disposition, this was unusual. “‘But I have promises to keep’ – a massive, album-shaped promise – how can Robert fucking Frost write shit like that, and I can’t write a damn word?!” Then he paused. “Fuck, talking to myself again.”

He brooded in silence, perched on the end of a log, for another five minutes, listening to the stream bubble over the rocks. 

“Maybe I’m going mad,” he said to the empty wood. “I knew it was going to happen. Just thought it would take a bit longer than this. But, hey. Ozzie Osborne made it work for him. Guess I could cash in on it too.”

He sighed and stood up, dusting off the seat of his pants. It was probably time to head off home, and he should apologise to Nick. He took a step forward and stopped.

He had the strangest feeling that something was watching him.

“Hello?” he said and instantly felt silly. The woods were empty; they belonged to the cabin, and no-one was out there. Tyson had made sure of it before they booked the place. “ _Really_ going crazy,” he muttered to himself and started to walk.

“These woods are lovely, dark and deep,” he droned in time with his steps, and then stopped short. “I wish I could remember more of that fucking poem – seriously, is there anyone there?”

He glanced around and behind him; the feeling of being watched had not abated since he started walking. If anyone _was_ out there, they were doing a remarkably good job of keeping out of sight – the woods weren’t that thick and, since it was fall, the leaves were coming down fast. There was nobody out there. Tyson shook his head and starting walking again, staring at his feet.

“These woods are lovely, dark and deep. These woods are _lovely_ , dark and _deep_. These woods are lovely, _dark_ and deep...” 

When he looked up again, he had no idea where he was.

**

_It wanted them gone._

**  
An hour and a half later, even knowing Tyson’s moods, Nick was starting to get worried. Even so, it was still light, Tyson had his cell, and in any event, he was a big boy. He could look after himself. And unless he’d found some particularly responsive wildlife, there was no way he’d found anyone to flirt with out here. Even Nick couldn’t bring himself to be jealous of a badger.

Still, despite all of these very sensible reasons, Nick was still somehow... on edge. 

He tried to occupy himself with writing and, failing that, Sudoku, but when Tyson had been gone fully two hours, he stood up.

“All right,” he said decisively. “Enough’s enough.”

He yanked on his shoes, grabbed his coat and headed for the door. He pocketed his keys and reached for the handle – when suddenly there a creaking outside on the porch, and he found he didn’t want to open the door. He paused, and then, berating himself for being ridiculous, flung open the door.

Tyson was in the doorway. They both jumped.

“Ty –“ Nick began, before Tyson grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him round and marched him straight back through the door again.

“Let’s stay inside, okay?” Tyson said brightly, pushing Nick down with unusual force into a chair. Nick blinked and watched as Tyson locked and bolted the front door, and then disappeared into the living room and Nick heard the click of the back door bolt.

“Are you all right?” he asked as Tyson reappeared in the kitchen and fidgeted a little, glancing repeatedly out of the window.

“Hmm?” Tyson looked at him, overly-innocent. “Yeah! Totally! Sorry for earlier, by the way, man, I was being pissy.”

“That’s... fine,” Nick said slowly. That was probably the easiest apology he’d ever had out of Tyson. “Seriously, though, are you okay? Did anything happen out there?”

“No. Why?” 

“It’s light out and you’re shutting the curtains.”

Tyson shrugged and flicked on the kitchen light. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“It’s three o’clock.”

“The nights come early here.” Tyson had once again vanished, and Nick could hear the sounds of curtains being shut in the living room and bedroom. “Hey, are there any windows open?” 

The sound of the bathroom window slamming seemed to answer his question.

“Tyson -“ Nick began, thoroughly confused. Tyson bounded back into the kitchen, radiating nervous tension and threw himself into a chair.

“So now everything’s good, we should write something. What d’you wanna write?” Tyson grabbed his notebook and yanked it towards him with hands that shook almost imperceptibly. “I think we ought to go for the –“

“Jagged, broken bits of soul,” Nick asked dryly, tugging the notebook away from him. “Dude, what’s up?”

Tyson slumped. “I don’t know, man. It’s probably nothing – I mean, it’s so stupid, I can’t even-” 

“Tyson, you’re _freaked_. That’s not stupid. Did something happen? Did you – did you see someone or something?” Nick paused, a little nonplussed. “Did someone – say something, do something, I mean – what, dude, seriously?”

Tyson’s hands gripped the back of the chair convulsively. “It’s these woods,” he said simply, and seemed to deflate. “Like, I went out, right?”

“I noticed,” Nick said dryly, and was ignored.

“And it was like someone was following – OK, no,” he interrupted himself. “Sorry, I’m just – I must be tired, you know?” he offered Nick a grin which wasn’t quite right. “Five hours in a car. And with you. _Anyone_ would be tired.”

“You felt like someone was _following_ you?” Nick had centred in on the salient point in among the second-guessing waffle. “Shit, Ty, that’s – not good. Maybe we should call the landlord, I am not playing hide-and-go-seek with a family of freaky inbred hill-billies!” _And_ , he thought to himself, _I’m not having them freak you out_.

“Have you been watching ‘Silent Hill’ again?”

Nick ignored him. “I thought there was no one out here, anyway?”

“There _isn’t_ ,” Tyson said, frustrated. “I _checked_ , man. There’s _no one here_. For miles. Out here, it’s us and trees!”

Nick stood and wrapped his arms around him. “You,” he said, rather muffled into Tyson’s shoulder, “are too freakishly tall. Seriously, shrink.” Tyson huffed a laugh and Nick squeezed him a little tighter. “Don’t laugh, I’m trying to hug you here. It’s a nice moment.”

Tyson hugged him back and they stood like that for a moment in silence. Then Tyson pulled away with a sigh. “I’m going to have a bath. Use some of your expensive bubbly crap.”

“Oh, and who steals all my expensive bubbly crap before I get a chance to use it, huh?” Nick asked with a grin. “Not me!”

Tyson smiled, not quite back to normal, but getting there. “Well, you shouldn’t get the stuff that smells so good then, should you?” he smiled and kissed Nick’s cheek. “I’ll be back.”

Nick waited until he heard running water before ringing the landlord, who confirmed what Tyson had said: there was really no-one out there. 

Cutting the call, Nick moved absently to the window and pulled back the curtain. It was barely half-three and the late sunlight was bright against the reds and golds of the dying leaves. “ _Whose woods these are, I think I know_...” he murmured vaguely to himself, and let the curtain fall back. “Always hated that poem,” he said, more firmly, and headed back to his guitar.

**

_It had happened before._

**

Tyson woke up sweating and too scared to make a sound. He sat up panting for a few minutes until Nick’s calm breathing registered, and he let himself fall back onto the pillows, getting lost in counting Nick’s breaths and falling asleep. He didn’t dream.

At first, it seemed like it was a momentary scare, which would pass. Despite their lifestyle and Tyson’s own wanderlust, he didn’t always adjust well to new places instantly, and with an imagination as vivid as his, this wasn’t the first time he’d freaked out about something and forgotten it within a week.

Tyson himself knew this as well as Nick, and was just as keen to brush it under the carpet. There was no one out there, they knew. They were fine.

But he couldn’t get that message through his head, or at least he couldn’t seem to, because he hadn’t had nightmares like these since he was a child. 

**

After three days of enforced house arrest, Nick was going stir crazy. They had at least settled into their usual routine; it was eight o’clock, and though Tyson was still fast asleep, Nick was up and ready to face the day.

He made himself coffee and puttered around, cleaning up the detritus of last night’s meal, and putting his guitar back on its stand. Something sticky had been spilt on the coffee table and he winced as he put his elbow in it, heading into the kitchen to grab something to wipe it up with. As he stood by the sink, he opened the curtains and stared out at the woods. They looked benign and almost disappointingly normal, inviting in the early morning sun. Shaking his head, he grabbed the dishcloth and wiped up whatever it was that Tyson had spilt.

Sitting down, he flicked the TV on and watched the early morning chat shows, remembering the couple they’d done with a wince. It was always a nightmare to get Tyson up and awake and functioning for them, and if Tyson wasn’t fully awake, there were lots of awkward pauses, and recalcitrant silence on the part of Chris. 

He drained the last of his coffee and put the mug in the sink, staring out into the woods again.

Well, he thought, what Tyson didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He could go for a walk – Tyson wouldn’t be up for another hour at least. 

He pulled on a pair of shoes, and grabbed his coat, trying not to remember the last time he’d done this and trying not to let this feel like a betrayal of sorts. He grabbed the keys and headed for the door.

It was cold out, but not windy – a beautiful day, warm where the sun hit the porch – and Nick suddenly found he couldn’t bring himself to go down the stairs, into the wood.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, and made to lower his foot onto the second step. 

Something creaked out in the wood and he froze, foot still hovering in midair. Swallowing, he brought it back, and dithered on the front step, looking out into the wood. He hummed the first few bars of ‘Killer Queen’ to ground himself, and a sharp, cold gust of wind blew past his ear. It sounded like a voice. “ _Let them eat cake, she said_ ,” he added the words, “ _just like Marie-Antoinette_.” This time there was silence. “ _Built-in remedy for Kruschev and Kennedy, at any time_ -” he broke off to listen. Nothing. “ _An invitation you can’t decline_...”

The woods were, as he’d known they were, empty. He half turned, to look down another path, and suddenly felt eyes cold on his back. When he whipped round to look for whoever it was, something flickered in the corner of his eye, and he froze, moving very slowly until he could look back at the place he thought he’d seen something.

There was nothing there. But someone was still watching him.

Something creaked inside the cabin, and he spun round – but the door was still shut, and he couldn’t see any movement. The eyes were still on him, the back of his neck was prickling, and he had the sudden, sharp feeling that something out there really, really hated him – him and Tyson both. He turned back to the wood slowly. Still, nothing.

For a long moment, he stared into the wood. The day was still lovely, the weather surprisingly mild for late September, and he still couldn’t bring himself to move off the step.

He felt almost lethargic, weirdly so since he’d only just woken. “ _He will not see me standing here_ ,” he murmured, half without knowing he did so, “ _to watch his woods_...” Something was still watching him.

The door of the cabin opened suddenly, and Nick jumped. The feeling of being watched vanished, and he turned to meet Tyson’s eyes.

“Nick?” Tyson’s voice was sleepy, his hair untidy and he had pillow marks on his face. He didn’t venture outside the threshold. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Nothing,” Nick said quietly. “Just – looking.”

**

_People were so easy to scare._

**

After that, it was easy to persuade themselves that they had no reason to leave the cabin. After all, they had everything they needed – food, alcohol, electricity – and they both tried not to think about what they’d need to do when the food ran out. 

Three days later, Nick put Tyson’s newest lyrics down with a sigh. “Look,” he said, “I like it, don’t take this the wrong way, but – it’s not a love song, is it?”

Tyson glanced up from the keyboard he’d been futzing about with, and frowned. “It’s supposed to be,” he said carefully and Nick shook his head. 

“Really? It doesn’t sound like one,” Nick trailed off.

“Doesn’t it?” Tyson said, still frowning and turning back to the keyboard.

“No – look, really, don’t take this the wrong way-”

“You keep saying that,” Tyson said sharply, then, with forced levity: “how’m I supposed to take it right if you won’t even say it?”

“It sounds like you’re chasing her,” Nick said, all in one breath.

Tyson focused on the keyboard. “Well, yeah,” he said, “that’s kind of your archetypal love song. Boy finds girl, woos girl-”

“No, I mean – actually chasing her. Dude, this reads like evidence for a restraining order,” Nick said, in a rush, after a long moment of silence.

Tyson turned properly away from the keyboard and gave Nick his full attention. “What’re you saying?” he asked, an edge to his voice that Nick hadn’t heard in a long time.

Nick picked up the lyrics and chose a line at random. “‘I’m coming for you, baby, don’t stop now’? ‘No more running, not this time’? Ty, this is a step above ‘you can run, but you can’t hide’, and only barely at that.”

Tyson’s frown became still more marked. “What, so I’m a stalker now?”

“No!” Nick said quickly. “I didn’t say – Tyson, that doesn’t even make _sense_!”

“Well, how else am I supposed to take it?” Tyson snapped.

“I don’t know!” Nick said wretchedly, putting the lyrics down and adjusting the glasses askew on his nose. “Maybe if you’d _talk_ to me about what’s going on with you! I know you’re having nightmares, and I know things are a bit creepy round here, but seriously, what’s up with you!?”

“There is nothing ‘up’ with me,” Tyson said coldly.

“You’ve had a nightmare every night since we got here, pretty much,” Nick retorted. 

“Nightmares are nothing new,” he insisted which, damn him, was true. “Especially when I’m stressed. You know that!”

“But _why_ are you so stressed?” Nick demanded. “We’ve been here two weeks, we don’t have a deadline – this is the ideas stage! You have nothing to be stressed _about_!”

“Last record we wrote almost gave me a fucking breakdown, Nick – what makes you think I’m not scared it’ll happen again?”

Nick shook his head. “If you are, it’s news to me,” he said quietly. “I think I’d have noticed.” He cut off whatever Tyson had been about to say – probably something unforgivable. “Look, take a minute, OK? I’m going outside.”

“What?” Tyson said instantly. “No, don’t-”

“Whatever’s got you so worked up hasn’t got to me,” Nick snapped. “It’s been five fuckin’ days, I am _going_ out _side_.”

“Don’t,” Tyson said quickly, “come on, we don’t know who’s out there, and it’s cold out-”

“I’ll be a big boy, and take a coat,” Nick said, standing and not looking at Tyson as he shrugged on his jacket. He paused in the doorway and glanced back at Tyson, who was standing by their keyboard, looking lost. “Ty, it’s a wood. That’s all it is.”

He didn’t know which of them he was trying to reassure.

 

**

“Twenty minutes,” Tyson told himself after he’d heard the door slam. “Twenty minutes and then I’ll fetch him back even if I have to drag him.”

He brooded for a minute on his last walk, how he’d found himself lost without ever leaving the path and how time had elongated without him even noticing it – and how he’d felt someone just behind him, all the time, and never been able to see them.

He never thought about his nightmares– but all the same, it was barely ten minutes before he was dragging on his own coat and running out the door.

He didn’t need to go far. Nick was standing on the front porch, the same way Tyson had found him a few days ago, surveying the empty wood.

Tyson joined him, staring out into the trees. He tried to ignore the way the back of his neck was prickling. “Whatcha doing?” he said quietly, pretending their fight – such as it was – had never happened.

Nick shrugged. “Just listening. I – didn’t want to just walk off. Not after a fight.” It was a lie, and they both knew it, but Tyson decided the better part of valour was discretion, and ignored it. He slung an arm around Nick’s shoulder and they stood there in silence for a few long minutes.

The wood looked darker than it should have, for the time of day – it was barely dusk, but the darkness seemed to gather between the trees, and spill out into the little clearing in which the cabin stood. There was barely a wind, but it sounded like a gale in the trees, and Tyson flinched, because if he listened too closely, he could have sworn he heard a voice.

That seemed to jerk Nick out of his stupor. “I think,” he said, very deliberately, “that I’d like to go inside now.”

Tyson didn’t need telling twice. He ushered Nick inside first, and glanced back, once, at the trees. He pretended that he wasn’t almost certain he saw something move, out there, among them, too low to be a branch, and too clear to be anything other than a person.

**

_It wanted them_ gone.

**

Nick’s voice was very quiet, when he spoke. Tyson had locked the door, checked that all the windows and curtains were shut, and that the backdoor was locked too. As a precaution, he’d shoved a chair under the backdoor handle. Nick had watched all of this in silence, without saying anything, but finally he spoke up. “OK,” he said softly, “I get it. This place is freaky.”

Tyson sank onto the sofa next to him. “Oh, you’re telling me,” he agreed fervently.

“And your nightmares?” Nick looked at him steadily, and Tyson shrugged.

“I don’t even know, man. I don’t remember ’em.”

**

_He was being carried, but he couldn’t see anything. The bag was itchy against his skin, and he could hear the crunch of fallen leaves under their feet and the wind in the trees. He’d long given up screaming – there was no point and no one to hear him – but his throat was still raw with it._

_It didn’t matter. His raw throat was going to be the last thing he felt and he knew it._

_He could hear running water, getting louder over their steps, and instinctively tried to squirm away. The breath clogged in his throat as he panicked, but he knew it was no good even as he fought against them. Their hold on him tightened, and he couldn’t get away, not before-_

_He hit the ground hard, and the knees of his trousers were wet in the leaf-mulch of late autumn, and someone was shoving him forward. He had time for one last panicked breath before-_

_The bag was wet and heavy, and the water was freezing cold, like a slap to the face, not that it mattered, because he was trying to breath, and it was flooding his mouth and nose and lungs. Someone’s hand was warm on the back of his neck as they held him down, and Tyson had time for one last panicked quicksilver thought before-_

He woke, sweating, gulping down air like he had really been drowning. He put a hand to his chest instinctively, just to feel himself breathing.

The room was still dark, and there was no light from the window – Tyson had never thought he’d miss light pollution, but he found himself wishing passionately for a friendly street lamp and a _sound_ , anything other than wind in the goddamn trees.

Part of him wanted to go and look out into the wood, try and get a grip on whatever it was that scared him – but most of him knew that wasn’t a good idea. He’d get too good a grip on it – whatever it was (and Tyson was definitely coming round to the fact that something was out there), it was in the wood, and it knew they were there too.

Instead, he looked down at Nick, still sleeping soundly, and felt a latent shudder of fear. The dream hand on the back of his neck, so warm in comparison to the icy water, that hand had been Nick’s.

Nick had been drowning him.

**

He turned the lights on in the sitting room, and then in the kitchen too for good measure, unable to be in the same room as Nick, at least for a little while. He dragged the big armchair away from the window, into the pool of light cast by the table lamp, with his back to a windowless wall, hunkered down and tried to distract himself, first with lyrics, and then when that didn’t work he picked up a book and tried to read.

But he couldn’t concentrate. His mind kept drifting back to the poem he’d been half-remembering all week. “These woods are lovely, dark and deep,” he found himself muttering, and frowned, unable to remember anything more. “OK, from the top,” he said to himself. “Whose woods these are, I think I know-” he broke off, shuddering. “Too close to the bone,” he said and picked up his book with a renewed sense of purpose.

A particularly strong burst of wind threw leaves at the window. Dry as bone, they made a faint scratching noise against the glass as they fell, which Tyson only heard because of the intense silence.

He scowled at the window. “You don’t scare me,” he said, and went determinedly back to his book.

An icy draft from the crack under the door snaked around his ankles, and he shivered from more than cold, drawing his legs up to his chest.

Whatever it was, it knew he was lying.

**

When the first light of dawn filtered in through the curtains, Tyson finally crept back to bed, and slid under the covers next to Nick. He desperately wanted to cuddle with him, but something in him recoiled. 

All the same, he quickly fell asleep, wrapped round a pillow placed carefully between him and Nick.

Unsurprisingly, Nick woke first. He was a little taken aback to see the pillow between him and Tyson – sleeping Tyson was like a limpet, and Nick usually had a job of work to get himself disentangled in the morning; he had long given up on the idea of personal sleeping space – but he shrugged, figuring that whatever was up, Tyson would tell him when he woke. He pressed a kiss to Tyson’s cheek and slid out of bed to put the coffee on. Tyson could smell coffee in his sleep.

The lights were on in the kitchen, and Nick paused in the doorway frowning. He knew he’d turned them off last night. Shrugging, he turned the lights off and switched on the coffee machine. 

From the sunlight filtering through the curtains, it was a bright day outside, and Nick gingerly pulled aside the curtains to look out into the woods. From here, in the daylight, there was no aura of menace, but just looking into the trees sent a weird thrill of panic down Nick’s spine, so he let the curtain fall back again and concentrated on the no-nonsense smell of the brewing coffee.

When that smell didn’t draw Tyson out, he knew for certain that something was up, but he figured if Tyson had been up in the night (and the lights left on argued that he had been) it was probably best to let him sleep. He drew some manuscript paper towards him, and got to work, ignoring Tyson’s more recent lyrics, which still gave him the creeps.

Despite knowing that he was really better at refining Tyson’s lyrics than writing his own, he found himself trying to write something, just to get away from Tyson’s most recent efforts. As usual, nothing much came, and instead he found the blank space in his head filled by the same, endlessly repeated line of poetry: ‘whose woods these are, I think I know...’

When he found himself muttering it over and over, unable to remember anymore of the damn poem, he flung his pen down in frustration and admitted defeat. The lyrics would have to wait until Tyson woke up.

Tyson slept for the rest of the morning, and Nick could only write music for nonexistent lyrics for so long. He puttered a little, turning on the TV for some of the better morning shows and staying away from the windows. When Tyson stumbled out at gone twelve, Nick was futzing around with his guitar, playing a silly, jazzed up version of one of their songs. Tyson smiled at him and made a beeline for the coffee machine.

Nick put his guitar back on its stand and headed over to the kitchen to join him.

“Bad night?” 

Tyson, who was murmuring sweet nothings into his coffee cup, merely nodded. Nick leant in to kiss him good morning and pulled back after the most perfunctory kiss.

“Dude, morning breath much?”

“Coffee breath,” Tyson returned without rancour. “Jesus, Wheeler, would it kill you to brush your teeth from time to time?”

“Oh, and when did you last brush yours?” Nick asked. Tyson, taking a blissful gulp of coffee, didn’t reply. “See? You can’t cast aspersions on my hygiene. Things are nesting in your hair, Tyson.”

Tyson gave him the finger, pecked him on the cheek and went to sit at the table. “So, I remembered my nightmare this time,” he said, staring at his hands, flat on the table.

Nick pulled a face. “Bad ones?” Tyson nodded, and Nick sat opposite him at the table, tapping his fingers on the wood. “Wanna share?”

Tyson shook his head, affecting nonchalance. “Eh, you don’t wanna know, man.”

“Ty, I always want to know when something’s bothering you,” Nick said, looking away so they wouldn’t get caught up in the moment and end up without Tyson having told him anything. “C’mon, spill.”

“I’d been kidnapped, I guess, something like that – I knew who they were, but I couldn’t see their faces.” Tyson’s voice had the ring of a flat recitation. “We were going through this wood-”

“What, this one specifically?” Nick asked, shocked.

“- _a_ wood,” Tyson corrected himself. “And then we got to a stream, and you drowned me,” he finished simply.

Nick rocked back as though he’d been slapped, then reached instinctively for Tyson’s hand. He was inexpressibly relieved that Tyson let him take it and didn’t move away. “Just a dream, man,” he said awkwardly, squeezing Tyson’s hand. “I promise, if I ever wanna kill you, I’ll give you plenty of warning.” He winced a little when Tyson’s expression didn’t lighten. “Sorry. Too soon?”

“You held my head under water while I drowned,” Tyson said, with a grim parody of a smile. “Little bit.”

Nick stood and went over, hugging him round the shoulders. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Tyson clung, just a little, then pulled back. “S’just a dream, right? I mean, what else could it be?”

**

_People were so easy to scare_.

**

Nick wouldn’t have admitted it, even to himself, but he found that he wasn’t wild about the idea of being in a room by himself that day. He couldn’t even spin it to himself as not wanting to leave Tyson alone after his nightmare – which had sent shivers down Nick’s spine – he just didn’t want to be alone. He kind of hated that all of the rooms had windows, and was glad that Tyson hadn’t made any move to open the curtains.

If asked, he’d have been hard-pressed to think of a reason for his behaviour, but just the idea made him feel ill-at-ease. The feeling of something waiting for them, outside and just beyond the all-too-thin walls of the cabin, was pressing in on him, and the windows felt like the weak points. It was an ill-defined dread, but omnipresent, seeming to dictate everything he did.

Tyson was staying close, and whether it was to reassure them both that the nightmare hadn’t changed anything, or because he too was shaken up, Nick didn’t know, but he was grateful either way. The fact that neither of them seemed able to articulate what they were feeling just made everything worse, a horrible, enforced conspiracy of silence – and all the while, the feeling of being watched weighed heavily on Nick’s mind. 

They didn’t get anything done that day, instead huddling together on the sofa and finding excuses to follow each other into the different rooms. Tyson read his book while Nick watched TV, staying away from the windows; he couldn’t shake the idea that if he could see out, then something else could see in.

His own inability to pinpoint exactly what it was that he was uneasy about really got to him after a little while. If he didn’t know what the problem was, he couldn’t solve it; there was nothing to do but feel the encompassing, uncomfortable dread.

It was a relief to put an end to the day and go to bed – for Nick, at least. Tyson had got more and more tense as the light behind the curtains dipped, and gave Nick an almost betrayed look when he suggested going to bed, even though Nick had been putting it off for hours and it was one in the morning before he got as far as suggesting it.

When Nick turned off his light and curled up under the covers towards Tyson with his arm draped over him, Tyson kept his light on, and stayed sitting up, reading with a frown of concentration that the trashy paperback didn’t merit. Nick wanted to stay awake with Tyson, to try and help him ward away the nightmares, but a day of being on-edge had exhausted him, and he fell asleep far faster than he’d meant to.

Tyson must have done as well, because the next thing Nick knew was Tyson jerking bolt upright and the sudden movement jolted Nick awake. 

“You OK?” he said, his voice scratchy with sleep. Tyson was sweating and he took a few long gulping breaths without replying. “Same dream?” Nick asked, sitting up and clearing his throat, trying to drag his mind out of the fog of sleep.

“It was Chris, this time,” Tyson said quietly, scrubbing at his eyes with both hands, and Nick frowned.

“Drowning you?” he asked, curling in closer to Tyson and wrapping his arm back round him.

Tyson shook his head, almost impatiently. “I was drowning him,” he said, and Nick hugged him tightly, lost for words. He had no idea what to say to make Tyson feel better, and he had a feeling that saying ‘just a dream’ would do nothing to help. If only because he was studiously ignoring the germ of an idea that said it was more than just a dream, and he suspected Tyson was too.

Instead, he just stayed awake with Tyson, listening with antipathy to the silence, until the dawn broke and they finally relaxed enough to fall asleep.

**

They both conspired in the silence the next day, not mentioning Tyson’s dream as they went about the daily business of getting up and dressed and caffeinated. Nick’s feeling of being a sitting duck was growing, and finally in a desperate attempt to break the silence, he blurted out: “man, I’ve had this poem in my head for like the last week, and it’s driving me nuts. Can you remember anything more? I did it at school, but I can’t remember it now.”

Tyson shrugged listlessly. “S’the poem?” he asked.

“Can’t remember the title, or the guy who wrote it,” Nick said, “helpful, I know, but – all I can remember is ‘whose woods these are, I think I know’. Seriously, man, that’s like – it. Are you OK?” Tyson was look at him oddly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, but – I’ve been remembering that poem all week.” He gave Nick a wide-eyed, uncertain look. “You know – ‘these woods are lovely, dark and deep’-”

“‘But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep’,” Nick finished triumphantly. “That’s the one!”

Tyson didn’t look reassured. “Why’ve we both been remembering it?” he asked, an off-note in his voice. “Don’t you think that’s a bit weird? I haven’t thought about that poem since _I_ did it in high school. Why are we both remembering it now?”

“It doesn’t have to be anything weird,” Nick replied, just a little sharply, irrationally irritated by the suggestion that there could be something up. “We’re together the whole time, we could have seen it on TV or on a poster, or one of us could have muttered it and set the other one to thinking – the possibilities are endless, Ty. I’m not gonna freak myself out about a coincidence!”

“I don’t think this is a coincidence!” Tyson said hotly. “I don’t think _any_ of this is a coincidence – I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that I’m having nightmares, or that you’re so paranoid, or that neither of us can open the fucking curtains when it’s broad daylight outside! Those are not coincidences, Nick!”

“But it’s ridiculous!” Nick replied vehemently. “There is _nothing going on_!”

“Then why,” Tyson asked, suddenly quiet, “are you so scared?”

**

_He was carrying someone, and knew they were dead. At some point, the bag had fallen off and their head was lolling sickly, the hair hanging in wet strands and dripping onto the leaves. He wasn’t being careful; their head bounced with every step and one arm had slipped free, the hand bouncing too._

_He carefully didn’t look at the person in his arms; the others had gone on ahead, and even from here he could hear that sound of shovels. He could feel the residual warmth of the body seeping through the sleeves of his jacket and shuddered._

_It was a relief to get to the little clearing and be able to throw the body down into the shallow ready-dug pit._

_The body fell with a dull thud, and lay in a pitiful heap. Tyson was all-too glad to grab a shovel and start pitching earth over it._

_It was only when he glanced down, almost by accident, that he saw the corpse was Nick._

**

He woke, sick to his stomach, and barely made it out of bed and into the bathroom before he was retching. Nick was only a couple of seconds behind him, and he knelt next to him, rubbing a hand down Tyson’s back.

When Tyson pulled back, he was flushed and his eyes were wet. The look he gave Nick was a little hectic.

“You OK now?” Nick asked cautiously, rubbing his hand in small circles between Tyson shoulder blades.

“I just buried you, Nick,” Tyson rasped, his throat shot. Nick rocked back on his heels, eyes wide and shocked. It was the first time Tyson had seen him truly shaken by the nightmares, and something perverse inside him made him go on. “I dumped your body in a ditch and buried you,” he said remorselessly, “and I was happy. I was _happy_ I’d done it.”

Nick was silent for just a shade too long, and Tyson started to worry, regretting telling him. Then, Nick’s hand was on his back again, and he said, voice almost level, “I don’t care how trite it sounds, it’s just a dream, Ty. I’m alive, you’re alive – unless he’s been brewing beer in his girlfriend’s kitchen again, Chris is still alive. We’re fine. Come back to bed.”

He stood and offered Tyson a hand up, which Tyson took. “I need to clean my teeth,” he said, and Nick perched on the edge of the tub while he got rid of the acid taste in his mouth and splashed water on his face. When he was done, he linked his and Nick’s hands again, threading his fingers through Nick’s, and let himself be led back into the bedroom.

**

“Nick,” Tyson said tiredly into his coffee cup, “I’ve been having the same nightmare for nights now. Same nightmare, different people. You can’t tell me that’s normal! And then the poem, too? Another coincidence? Neither of us wants to open the goddamn curtains – is that normal too?!”

Nick was frowning. “I can’t explain it, but how can it possibly be something weird?”

Tyson shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s not normal. We don’t even want to go outside!”

“Fine, OK, let’s go outside, then!” Nick snapped in return.

“Fine,” Tyson nodded, and sat back. “Let’s go outside.”

“Wait, what?”

“You shouldn’t have a problem with it, if everything’s normal, right? Nothing to be scared of out there.”

“Look,” Nick said carefully, “I think we’ve built this up in our own heads, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not – the power of the mind, you know? Just because there’s nothing to be scared _of_ doesn’t mean we’re not scared! Fear of the dark, man! That’s all this is – fear of the dark.”

“Then let’s go outside and prove it to ourselves,” Tyson said logically, knowing Nick could only acquiesce. For anyone who knew Nick, his agreement was curiously reluctant.

**

They prepared for the outing like it was a polar expedition, taking food, coats, water, and Tyson had a flashlight he’d dug up from one of the cabin’s many cupboards. Thus armed, Tyson glanced back at Nick and turned the key in the lock, opening the door and stepping out onto the porch. Nick followed him and they stood there silently for a long moment, neither of them willing to move. It was daylight, but the woods were mostly silent, only a slight breeze and the odd animal to disturb the quiet.

“If we can’t even get down the steps, then we might as well go home, man,” Tyson said finally, and Nick shook his head vehemently.

“No,” he said and took a step forwards, then another, “we came up to here to write, and we’re not running away.” He ignored his own feelings of fear, taking the steps with determination until he was standing on the dead leaves which surrounded the cabin.

Tyson followed him down, rather more gingerly, and came to stand next to him. “OK then,” he said, taking a deep breath. “What now?”

“Now, we go for a walk,” Nick said firmly, taking Tyson’s hand. He took a step into the leaves, and glanced back at the cabin, which seemed far away already, even though they were barely a metre from the door.

Tyson gripped Nick’s hand and they set off into the woods.

“Man, I feel like Hansel and Gretel,” Tyson muttered, and Nick laughed, rather harder than the joke deserved, trying to hold back the panic he could feel growing as they got nearer to the trees.

“You need breadcrumbs for that,” he said, his voice carefully even.

“Don’t knock it, I’m not sure that’s not a good idea,” Tyson said, his own voice a little tenser than usual.

“Got any breadcrumbs on you?” Nick asked with a smile, keeping his eyes trained on the trees.

“No, but I could use gumdrops,” Tyson joked back.

“Don’t bother, I think I’ve got enough plecs to leave a trail for us.” They were both very aware that the silence seemed to be getting more oppressive the nearer they got to the trees, and they were talking to fill the silence.

They both stopped instinctively just before the treeline, and looked at each other for a second. Then Tyson shook his head. “Fuck it, this is ridiculous,” he said, and they both took a step into the trees.

They walked down to the fork in the path in silence, warily looking around for anything unusual, but there was nothing. The wood looked almost disappointingly normal; none of the trees were so much as grotesquely shaped. When they got to the shallow fork in the path, they stopped, and Nick glanced at Tyson.

“Right or left?” he asked, and Tyson hesitated.

He would dearly have loved to have said ‘back’, but they had to get over this or the whole trip would have been pointless. He so wanted Nick to be proved right, he would even take a walk in the creepy wood, where, to Tyson’s mind, something else was clearly in charge.

He couldn’t believe that he’d gone for a walk alone here just a week or so ago.

He squared his shoulders and said decisively, “right, let’s go right.”

“Right it is,” Nick agreed. Neither of them stepped forward. 

Finally, Nick took the plunge and headed down the pathway, half-pulling Tyson along behind him. For a few moment, there was silence, and then Nick began to talk, inane half-sentences and unfinished thoughts. The more Nick talked, the more Tyson could feel whatever it was the wood pressing in on them, and from the way Nick kept talking, ever more desperately and falsely bright, he could feel it too. Nick never rambled like this; Tyson was the chatterer in their relationship.

“-thinking of going to see my parents sometime soon, y’know, I haven’t seen my mom in what, five months?” Nick said, finding things to talk about apparently by effort of sheer will. “I think it’s about time... talking of which, what time is it?”

“What?” Tyson said, shaken out of his reverie. “Oh, I, er. Bout half-three?”

Nick frowned, glancing up. “Oh. Should it – should it be getting dark, then?”

Tyson looked up and shrugged. “I don’t think it’s that dark, man. It’s just because it’s we’re in a wood.” He paused, and corrected himself. “It’s just because we’re in _this_ wood,” he said slowly, and whatever it was seemed to press in harder.

They went on in awkward silence for a few minutes, and Tyson tried not to notice the way Nick was gripping his hand tighter and tighter as they walked further into the wood. Finally, he cracked.

“Look, man, are you OK?”

“Can you hear that?” Nick asked, by way of reply, and Tyson frowned. He couldn’t hear anything, but he could feel the way whatever it was had started to watch them again, invisible eyes fixed on his back. It _felt_ like they were being followed, but he couldn’t _hear_ anything. 

“No,” he said honestly. “What can you hear?”

“Sounds like footsteps,” Nick said tensely.

Tyson had to force himself to look round. Just as he’d known there would be, there was nothing there.

He took a deep breath. “I really don’t like this place, Nick,” he said weakly, not looking at him. “I really don’t like it. I think we should just cut our losses, man.”

“But we came up here to write,” Nick argued, though he didn’t sound too convinced. “If we don’t, then this has just been a waste of time. If we stay in the cabin, we’ll be just fine.” Though neither of them could have said at what point they had found themselves in actual danger.

Tyson shook his head. “You hate the lyrics I’m writing up here,” he pointed out. “And we’ve got some stuff done. It’s more of a waste of time sitting on our asses, sitting on our asses too scared to do anything! C’mon, Nick,” he glanced at Nick, but Nick wasn’t there. When he looked up, he didn’t know where he was, either.

**

_It just wanted them gone_.

**

When Tyson didn’t reply, Nick looked up and found himself alone. He stared around himself, trying to get his bearings, really, honestly freaked now. “Ty?” he tried. “Ty, where are you? Did you – trip or something? I- Tyson!?”

There was no answer, and something was watching him. Nick started, quietly and without fanfare, to panic. There was something lodged in his chest, and he took a couple of deep, gasping breaths, trying to calm himself. The wind had picked up, and the rustle of it in the leaves sounded like mockery.

He dithered for a couple of seconds before pulling out his phone and hitting speed dial. He didn’t even have words for how relieved he was when Tyson picked up. 

“Nick, where are you?” Tyson asked immediately, when Nick didn’t say anything.

“I don’t even know,” Nick said, a rasp in his voice, and it hit him forcefully that he was _alone_ in this wood, scared of something he couldn’t see for reasons he couldn’t name, and the panic slammed into him. “I don’t know,” he repeated, the breath feeling thin in his throat.

Tyson was saying something, but he had to actually shout into the phone before Nick could hear him. “ _Nick_! Breathe in and out, OK? In with me – and out with me – c’mon, you’re good at this breathing thing, calm _down_! In with me – and out with me – and in – and out – OK, Nicky, it’s OK.”

“You don’t sound so hot yourself,” Nick said, once he was calm enough to speak. It was better, on the phone with Tyson. He could hear Tyson walking, twigs cracking under his feet, leaves rustling, but he sounded so solid compared to the earlier footsteps he’d heard.

“I hate this place, man,” Tyson said. “I don’t know where I am either. Can you see a path?”

Nick looked around, taking a closer stock of his surroundings. “Yeah – yeah. It’s kind of faint, though.”

“Still a path. I guess you should just follow that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know where it goes,” Nick pointed out. 

Tyson sounded tired. “Does it matter where it goes? This thing isn’t that big. You either get out and head to civilisation, or you get back to the cabin. It’s not like we can be lost in here forever, dude.”

“I guess. What about you?”

“Following a path, man. Last one back to the cabin has to lock the door,” he joked weakly.

“Deal,” Nick agreed, and focused for a minute on Tyson’s breathing as he made his way to the path. He could still hear Tyson’s footsteps, but then, uncomfortably, he heard other footsteps, just out of time with Tyson’s, fainter and less reassuringly solid. “Um,” he said uncertainly. “Is there an echo on this line?” His own voice was clear and sharp, no hint of an echo.

“No,” Tyson said clearly. “I don’t think so?”

“Oh, good,” Nick said. The footsteps were still there, stopping and starting, out of time with his own, and on cue, the feeling of being watched returned. “Look, man,” he said, talking rather fast, “I think you were right, I think when we get back to the cabin, we just cut our losses and go.”

“I am so on board with this plan,” Tyson said. “I hate it here, Nicky.”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “Freaky. Let’s just – let’s just go, huh?”

“Yeah. Pack up and – ok, wait. What the fuck, this is-” The line went dead.

Nick stopped short. “Ty? Tyson?” he tried, despite knowing the call had cut. When he tried to ring him back, he got Tyson’s voicemail, and rang off with a curse, without leaving a message. “Fuck,” he said to the empty wood.

Then, behind him, the sound of footsteps started up again. Nick glanced once, wildly, behind himself at the empty path, and started to run.

**

Tyson stared at the stream in frank disbelief. “OK,” he said very slowly. “OK, so – that’s weird. Nicky, can you- Nick? Hallo?”

His phone beeped dully before dropping the call. No signal. He shoved it into his pocket, and stared around at the tiny clearing, the stream running through it – everything exactly like every dream he’d had for the last week. “Whose woods these are,” he whispered, then cut himself off, a feeling of icy dread slipping down his spine. “I don’t fucking believe this,” he muttered, and turned very deliberately away from the stream.

He had to stop himself forcibly from going to look for the grave.

Instead, he pulled the flashlight out of his coat pocket and switched it on. It wasn’t really dark enough for it, but it made him feel better just to have it with him. It could even be used as a weapon, if need be – not, he suspected, that weapons would help them against whatever this thing was.

The stream seemed to get louder behind him, and he could feel something menacing growing in strength behind him. He looked back, once, and began to run.

**

Nick felt like his lungs were bursting. He hadn’t run this much since high school. Possibly it was his imagination, but the wood seemed to be getting darker. The woods didn’t get any thinner no matter how far he ran, and the footsteps were a constant, slow, steady presence in the background. No matter how fast he ran, they stayed the same pace and he couldn’t outrun them. The wind had picked up and it was cold on his face as he ran into it, picking at his hair and clothes and making his eyes water.

Eventually, he stopped and slumped, panting, against a tree, unable to run any further. Miracle of miracles, the footsteps stopped, too. He had no idea where he was in relation to the cabin and even less idea where Tyson was. Nick picked up the phone to ring him again. The call connected and rang out. 

“ _Hi, this is Tyson, leave a me –“_

Nick cut off the call and pushed himself upright. He was exhausted, but the thought of staying in one place was not appealing. Clutching his coat a little tighter around him, he started to run again.

**  
Tyson was not enjoying himself. He’d somehow come off the path, though he could have sworn he’d been following it a moment ago, and now he was crashing through the undergrowth, surrounded by trees. He stopped for breath and glanced round, desperately hoping for a landmark, or a sign, or even Nick. 

There was nothing. Tyson looked up through the canopy of branches; all the trees looked the same, and it sounded stupid even in his head, but there just so goddamn many of them. On the bright side, he’d felt nothing sinister since he’d left the clearing with the stream. He worried about Nick, though, because if – whatever it was wasn’t going after him, it was probably concentrating on Nick. 

The torch was something of a comfort at least, even though it wasn’t properly dark. The light that managed to filter through the leaves and branches was faint and watery and made every shadow seem twice as big and twice as likely to hide something. He gripped the torch a little tighter and started off again towards (or so he hoped) the cabin, or Nick.

**  
Nick had slowed to a walk, simply unable to run anymore. Plus he figured it was best to save energy; the footsteps, though still there, weren’t actively pursuing him and he had no idea how long he was going to be stuck out here. He tried not to think about being lost in the wood when night really fell. Glancing round, he tried to get his bearings, but the path looked exactly like every other one he’d tried to follow. 

Except... Nick frowned and squinted. He could see something through the trees. It was faint and glimmering and he could have sworn it hadn’t been there before. The air suddenly went cold and the hair rose on the back of his neck. It was a light, moving seemingly of its own volition through the darkness. Behind him, the footsteps picked up speed, so fractionally that, had Nick not been a musician for a living, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. As it was, the combination of the glowing light and the faster steps spurred him into a stumbling run once more. 

**  
Someone was behind him. He had looked several times and had seen no-one, so it clearly wasn’t Nick. Whoever it was - _what_ ever it was – they were running, feet treading clumsy through the leaves. They were breathing in ragged gasps and they sounded pained. Later, Tyson wouldn’t be proud of his reaction, but all their panic did was spur him on faster. It was with relief that was on the long, shallow fork that led up to the cabin. The path was clearly defined and the earth packed down. 

He looked back one more time, and then forward, and someone was in front of him. He yelled, dodged instinctively to the side, ducking away, and then someone grabbed him.

“Oh, thank fuck it’s you!” It was Nick, and he sounded scared. Tyson wrapped his arms around him and let himself cling for a moment until his heart rate slowed. It was Nick who pushed him away. “Okay, you’ve no idea how happy I am to find you, but we have to get back in the cabin, like, now.”

“Uh-huh,” Tyson agreed fervently and they set off at a weary run towards the cabin. Tyson fumbled with the key and Nick grabbed it from him, though his hands were shaking just as much as Tyson’s.

“Let me,” he said and jammed the key in the lock. They virtually fell through the door, slamming it behind them and throwing the bolt into place.

“Fuck,” breathed Tyson, leaning against it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck...”

“That’s it,” Nick pulled out a chair and collapsed into it. “We’re going. We can’t stay here.”

“What, now?” Tyson looked up, alarmed. The prospect of going back into the wood, even inside a car, was not a nice one. He didn’t like the idea they could be spirited anywhere at any moment. The cabin seemed like the safest place to be.

“Tomorrow,” Nick said grimly. “First thing. We have to pack up, remember? That’ll take some time. _Fuck_ ,” he added suddenly, and Tyson jumped, on edge. “I’m glad I didn’t bring Dex.”

“Yeah. Aren’t dogs supposed to know when something’s up?”

“Maybe it would have helped to have him here,” Nick said, dropping his head into his hands.

“Nah, man. Then all we’d have is a scared dog.” Tyson sat in the chair opposite Nick, the remaining adrenaline draining out of him. “Ok. Coffee. Packing. And then I need to sleep.”

Nick nodded. “We’ll stack everything in the hallway and reverse the car up to the house tomorrow.” The ‘so we don’t have to move far from the cabin’ remained unsaid.

They stared at each other in weary silence and then Tyson got up to put on the coffee machine.

**  
Tyson sat up with a gasp. Stills from his nightmare played over and over again in his mind – Chris’ face half-obscured by dead leaves, Mike’s hands tied too-tightly behind his back, his own head under the water and Nick in a jumble of limbs at the bottom of a ditch – and he shook his head to clear it, leaning over to check that Nick hadn’t been woken by his nightmare. When he was sure Nick was still fast asleep, he reached over to turn on his bedside light. 

Nothing happened. Frowning, he pulled out the plug and put it back again. Still nothing. Deciding to risk waking Nick, he walked over to the door, and tried the main light. It didn’t work. 

“The fuck,” he whispered and padded over to Nick’s side of the bed. Too shaken to realise that Nick might not take well to being woken suddenly, he shook his shoulder roughly. Nick yelped, flailing awake, and it was only a lucky step back that prevented Tyson from taking a fist to the face.

“Dude, Nick, it’s me!” he hissed. Nick was staring at him, peering through the near-total dark.

Nick hauled himself up on his elbows. “What is it?” he asked sharply. “Are you ok?”

“Me? Yeah. I’m fine. Another nightmare, but I’m fine. But Nick,” he couldn’t help the note of fear that came into his voice. “Dude, the lights won’t work.”

There was a pause, and then Nick sighed. “It’s – it’s probably a fuse or something. Let me look at it.” Tyson heard him throw back the comforter and stand up. “Where are you? I can’t see a fuckin’ thing.” A hand landed on Tyson’s shoulder and he flinched. “Just me, man. What time is it?”

“Round three,” Tyson said softly. “You can’t check the fuses.”

He could hear the raised eyebrow in Nick’s voice. “What, you’re gonna do it? Remember how you shorted the entire street last year?”

“No – no, I mean, we _can’t_ check the fuse box.” There was a patient silence and Tyson sighed. “It’s outside, dude.”

He heard Nick exhale and sit down. Even a couple of days ago, Nick would have scoffed and done it anyway, but their earlier walk had been something of a game-changer.

“Right,” Nick said abruptly. “So what do we do?”

“I dunno.” Tyson squinted into the gloom, trying to read Nick’s expression. “Gather up all the candles we can find, I guess.”

Nick snorted. “’cause that’ll make things feel more normal. We weren’t all brought up in covens, Ty.”

“What d’you mean, a coven? What’re you trying to say about my mom? This is discrimination! My mom is not a witch, no matter what the neighbours say.”

As a joke it fell rather flat, but Nick laughed anyway. Tyson relaxed fractionally. It may not have been much, but laughter felt reassuringly normal.

“Ok, ok, no candles. I think there’s an emergency flashlight somewhere –“

“Or we could go back to bed?” Nick suggested. Tyson shrugged.

“Not sure I wanna go back to sleep at the moment.”

Nick was silent. “Ok,” he said after a half-second pause. “We don’t have to sleep. We could just pull the covers over our heads and cuddle for a bit. It’s just that I’m really freakin’ cold and I could do with a bit of cuddling.”

Tyson smiled. “Like I need an excuse. C’mon, old man. Back to bed.”

“First find your bed,” Nick said dryly and Tyson heard him scrambling back under the covers.

“It’s fine. I’ll just follow the sound of your voice. Keep talking!”

“If I keep talking and you follow my voice, you’ll end up on top of me.”

“Remind me why that’s a bad thing?” Tyson inched his way through the darkness, hands in front of him. Suddenly a flash of movement from the window caught his eye and he gasped.

“Dude.” Nick’s voice was suddenly tense. “Tyson. What is it?”

Tyson stared fixedly at the window. “Did you see something move?”

“What, in here?”

“No, no, outside. Something crossed the window.” Pale light was filtering in through the curtains, not yet bright enough to see by.

Tyson heard Nick swallow. “Come back to bed, Ty,” he said, without so much as a note of seduction in his voice. 

Tyson nodded pointlessly and all-but flung himself in the direction of the bed, wincing as he caught his foot against the frame. He curled up under the covers next to Nick, and Nick wrapped an arm around him.

“There’s fuck-all we can do now,” Nick pointed out softly. “All we have to do is hold out until morning.”  
Without another word, they settled down under the covers. Neither of them slept.

**  
At the first glimmer of grey light through the curtains, they gave up on sleep – clearly a lost cause – and threw the last bits and pieces into Tyson’s hold-all. Nick went through into the bathroom to pick through their pile of toiletries.

“We can leave stuff behind, right?” he called back to Tyson. “Like, shampoos and stuff.”

“I wouldn’t,” Tyson replied. Nick could hear scuffling. “Who knows what kind of freaky voodoo shit this thing could pull. I’m not risking it.”

Nick eyed the small mountain of products. “I’ll get the big bag, shall I?”

“Do it,” Tyson’s voice sounded strangely muffled.

“What are you doing?” asked Nick, coming to the bathroom door. Tyson was wedged half under the bed, ass in the air. “Or do I not want to know.”

“Anything that we leave behind, stays behind,” Tyson said darkly, emerging with a couple of dust-bunnies in his hair. 

“Except me, right?” Nick said with forced levity.

The corner of Tyson’s mouth twitched. “Don’t bank on it,” he said gamely. “Anyway, it might be difficult to forget you. You are the only other person in the car. And don’t even pretend you wouldn’t leave me if we ran out of room for your guitars.”

“Anywhere other than here… maybe.”

Tyson smiled and turned back to bed. “You gonna get the big bag?”

Nick paused. “Yeah. Come with?”

Tyson looked towards the window. The light was stronger now, but still faint. “Sure. Let’s go.”

**  
It seemed like hours but was probably only forty-five minutes before they were fully packed up, and then they were just playing a waiting-game with full light. They sat at the kitchen table. Nick gnawed his nails until Tyson batted his hand away from his mouth.

“Stop it,” he said absently. “Wanna play I Spy?”

“Tempting as that sounds,” Nick said dryly, “no. What’s the time?”

“About ten minutes since you last asked me.”

“So…?”

“Seven.”

Nick looked at Tyson. “Wanna risk it?”

“Get the car?”

“No, I thought we’d walk. Take in the scenery. Yeah, get the car and get out of here.”

Tyson nodded. “Let’s go.”

When they opened the door, the air outside was like a slap in the face. It was very still, and seemed noticeably colder than it had been the last time they had been outside. Tyson shivered. 

“It’s still early,” said Nick, noticing. “It’ll warm up later.”

Tyson cracked a tiny smile. “Sure. In the mountains. In Montana. With that thing lurking in the forest. I’m sure it’ll be sunbathing weather. We should stop on the way home. Catch some rays.”

Nick, who knew that humour was Tyson’s defence mechanism against everything from the common cold to armed robbery, ignored him and unlocked the car. Tyson looked speculatively at the car and then back at the house.

“D’you want me to guide you back? The rental people might get pissed if we crash into their steps.”

Nick scowled. “No. You’re coming in the car with me. And I think the rental people have a bigger problem, what with the infestation of creepy.”

Tyson shrugged and folded himself into the front seat. 

They backed the car as close to the front door as they could before throwing open the trunk and trooping back and forth with bags. By the time they’d loaded the car, never straying more than two feet from each other, the Sun was well and truly up – but both of them were uncomfortably aware that this thing could lose them in the woods without them moving a step. All traces of banter had gone. Nick was tight-lipped and Tyson’s fingers were clenched white around the last box. At last, Nick shut the trunk and they both turned back to look back at the empty doorway.

Tyson swallowed. “We need to lock up.”

Nick glanced at him. “You did the windows and the back door, right?”

“Yeah. I’m just thinking that we should have one last check, y’know? Just in case we’ve forgotten something.”

Nick sighed. “We’ve checked twice. And,” he looked uncomfortable. “Dude, I’m just sayin’. I don’t think I can go back in there. I mean, I can, but I don’t know if I’d find the guts to come out again.”

There was a moment of silence, then Tyson said hoarsely, “I’ve got the door-keys. Let’s go.”

“We’re not going to shove ‘em in the letter-box?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not making the poor landlord come out here to get them. Let’s just go.”

**  
It took an almost inhuman effort to get to the car. The leaves underfoot suddenly took on the consistency of treacle. Nick buckled himself into the driver’s seat, Tyson beside him, looking grim. 

They locked the car doors.

Tyson turned to give Nick a pleading look. “Much as I respect the Highway Code, put your foot down. I just want out.”

Nick slid a hand round the back of Tyson’s neck, threading his fingers through Tyson’s hair. “Gotcha,” he muttered and fired up the ignition. He pulled away as fast as the car would allow, aiming for the narrow track that led away from the house. They were less than thirty seconds into their drive when Nick glanced in the rearview mirror. 

A grey, shadowy figure flickered in his peripheral vision before something solidified on the porch of the house. Nick gasped and slammed his foot down, sending the car shooting forward. 

“What is it?” Tyson said urgently, gripping his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“It – it,” Nick stuttered, face ashy grey. “It was. That thing. It had no face. That thing had no fucking _face_.”

Tyson’s voice was hard. “Just keep going.” Nick noticed he didn’t look back.

**  
Five minutes outside the wood, they paused and took one last look back.

There was nothing there; they took their first easy breath in days, and the October sunlight was bright and clear.

**  
 _The woods are lovely, dark and deep._  
But I have promises to keep.  
And miles to before I sleep.  
And miles to go before I sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This work includes the dream-depiction of a murder. It's not overly explicit, but it is there and it is unpleasant. Please read carefully!


End file.
